


I'm Not Bothering You, am I?

by incoherentpiffler



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Humor, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incoherentpiffler/pseuds/incoherentpiffler
Summary: Based on a prompt (the title.)Felicia and Flambeau at Montagues (Monty away of course) - Flambeau admiring his newfound treasure, Felicia has other things on her mindShort but sweet !





	I'm Not Bothering You, am I?

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I might as well upload these here. I've been meaning to write Father Brown fic for so very long and prompts have led me to do so. :)
> 
> Of course, I am up to more ideas, I specifically love a bit of Felicia and Flambeau, especially after the wonderful ep in the newest series.
> 
> Expect (possibly) some longer fics of these two. Maybe.  
> Enjoy x

Perched on the edge of Lady Montague’s settee, Flambeau was observing an ornate brooch in his palm which he had filched from the gravel of St. Mary’s path. He found himself quite distracted by a playful hand upon his arm.

’ _I’m not bothering you, am I?_ ’ Felicia implored, playing with the cuff of his shirt. ‘Though I must say, I am rather bored.’

She was met with a glare.

'My dear, if I am correct in thinking,’ he paused to hold and press a kiss to her hand, 'this might be worth quite a small fortune.’ To this, Felicia scoffed.

'It’s rather filthy.’

'Ah, well.’ Flambeau licked his thumb and rubbed it against the filigreed leaves. 'It’s rather flashy, if it were cleaned…’ He held it out to show her, a glimmer of gold caught in lamplight.

Felicia grasped it from his hands, stuffing it underneath a satin cushion behind her, ignoring the furrow of his brow. 'I’m still not impressed, _Hercule_...’ She sighed, lower lip protruding, sulkily.

He bowed his head. 'Then what must I do to get it back?’ he murmured.

'Make me a drink,’ she said, tilting her head towards the uncapped brandy on the dresser. 'But - please, wash your hands, first.’


End file.
